I’m thinking of 2 types of negative experiences, one immediate, and the other long-term.
You know how sometimes if you get nauseous enough, it’s like even your thoughts start to tie to that feeling and loop you in a downward spiral until you find yourself not only crumpled on the floor near the toilet but also doubting your whole life and worth?
Well, there were a few times when I smoked way too much weed as a teen, and got scared because my high seemed to lock itself to my discomfort.
Here’s something I wrote once about one of those experiences:
After the ritual of burning through more bowls than I cared to count, my inner world suddenly fell black. Something like a battle erupted into being within my mind. It literally felt like good versus evil—the “good” being my desperate search for some way to stay sane and hopeful in the midst of an “evil” consuming darkness that tore at me to my core.
No-matter what positive idea I tried to fall back on, the darkness simply swept through and overtook me, easily wiping out my little stabs at hope like waves demolishing sandcastles.
Each time it happened, I shook and threw up violently.
Near the end, I remember trying to keep as still as possible, just waiting and longing for everything to be normal again.
When I came to, I found myself sprawled across the ground beneath a fern tree, covered in dirt and vomit.
I couldn’t comfortably get high for quite a while after that.
Years later, I got addicted to marijuana, and couldn’t seem to stop no matter what potential damage I saw, or what perfect plans/methods I found or bought to fight against it.
But the cool thing about weed is it seemed to help me gain the perspective I needed to eventually break my own addiction to it.
Here’s of how that happened.